Leslie Ash: The hospital was meant to treat me, not give me a superbug

By LESLIE ASH

Last updated at 00:11 02 September 2007

Actress Leslie Ash has earlier revealed how an accident left her fighting for survival. Here, in the last part from her autobiography, she describes how she learned to walk again and the moment she realised her career was in peril

Flowers and cards filled my hospital room. Everyone had been so kind, from old friends like Tracey Ullman to people I had never met. I felt humbled that so many people were showing me such kindness.

But increasingly I felt angry too.

After breaking two ribs in a freak accident while making love to my husband, Lee Chapman, I had caught MSSA – a close relation of the hospital superbug MRSA – and woken up unable to move.

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At first, I hadn't questioned what had happened but now I wanted to know how I had picked up an infection

that had so damaged my nervous system. I had been warned I might never walk again.

Lee and I went to see Janice Gardner, a lawyer specialising in medical negligence.

She told us the abscess that had damaged my spine had probably been picked up in the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital while I was being treated for my rib injuries.

'Do you mean I'm like this because I picked up an infection in a dirty hospital?' I whispered.

'Well, we don't know yet, but I think it is a strong possibility,' the lawyer replied.

She said the infection had most likely entered my spine via an epidural needle.

If the infection had been spotted at the hospital and I had been given antibiotics immediately, she added, the outcome might have been different.

I was stunned – if something so awful had happened so easily in the very place I had gone to get better, then why shouldn't it happen again?

After careful deliberation, Lee and I began legal proceedings against the Chelsea and Westminster NHS Trust. The case is ongoing.

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For my intensive rehabilitation I was transferred to London's Wellington Hospital. Lee was brilliant, visiting three times a day while also being a father to our two sons, Max and Joe, and running Teatro, our London club.

The boys were away at boarding school during the week but they visited me every weekend. I so looked forward to seeing them and they would tumble in, eat all my grapes and chocolate and take over the whole room.

Other elements of my new routine were less pleasurable. Initially, my rehabilitation programme consisted of two 45-minute physio sessions a day, eventually building up to four, plus regular X-rays and blood tests.

In the gym, I would practise standing up from a sitting position and after

two weeks I was able to stand unaided for a couple of seconds. It felt like a huge achievement.

Then I moved on to parallel bars, shuffling between them at a snail's speed, with my bottom sticking out

like a duck. All this hard work was pretty pointless, I said to myself, if I was just going to look like Mrs Overall from Acorn Antiques.

Then one day, I picked up a hand mirror: as I looked at my pale skin and the roots showing through my highlighted hair, I knew something had to be done.

I had always taken pride in my appearance, especially my hair, and seeing myself looking so bad made me realise I had to make a bit of effort – not just for my sake, but my husband's too.

After all, there's only so long a man can stare at hairy legs, bristling eyebrows and a surgical gown.

It was time for a change and, for the first time since my accident, I felt the need to reach for my make-up bag.

'It's a huge psychological moment in your recovery when you're interested enough in yourself to worry about how you look.'

I don't know if it was my new-found positivity or just old-fashioned healing, but it was just a couple of weeks later that Dr Shakir came running into my room.

'I've just read your notes,' he said. 'What wonderful news.'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'Your notes from last night,' he replied with a smile.

The previous evening I had been examined by his colleague and for the first time my toes had flexed downwards instead of up when the doctor ran the end of his hammer along the sole of my foot.

'It proves to us that your nerves are regenerating and that means there is recovery in your spine,' said Dr Shakir. 'Some of the damage is beginning to mend itself, Leslie.'

Shortly after this I began to walk on crutches, and on July 23, 2004, exactly three months after my accident, I was discharged from hospital.

Part of me was excited at the prospect of going home, but I was also anxious.

I feared Lee and the boys would start making demands on me as soon as I walked through the door, thinking things were normal again. I was scared of disappointing them. I was frightened of being a failure.

To begin with, my worries were well founded. I snapped at everyone and was easily upset. To make matters worse, offers of work failed to materialise.

In the months after leaving hospital, I only had two jobs – a photoshoot for Playtex and my last ever Homebase ad with my former Men Behaving Badly co-star Neil Morrissey.

The commercial had a Christmas theme and featured Neil and me decorating a tree and playing charades.

'All right?' Neil asked as I hobbled in. 'You've been through it, haven't you? So what happened, then?'

We chatted as people bustled around us.

Then as we took our positions, one of the crew took my crutches. Fear filled me – I began to sway so I grabbed the tree and held on for dear life.

Neil started laughing. 'What are you doing?' he asked.

'Holding on,' I laughed. 'Just don't move, otherwise I'll fall over.'

I told people I was fine, but slowly I could feel my sense of humour drying up. What kind of dream had I been living in? I couldn't be part of this world in the state I was in.

After Christmas 2004, I moved from crutches to a stick. It was another of those times in my recovery when I

just had to take a deep breath and do something I was scared of. As ever, Lee was there, urging me on.

But what really renewed my purpose in life was a call from the Patients Association. It wanted to know if, as a high-profile MSSA sufferer, I would help highlight the issue of hospital cleanliness.

Until then, I had thought mine was a rare case, but I learned that 5,000 people a year were being killed by these infections.

Like a lot of people, I had assumed that all medical staff washed their hands properly, equipment was always sterilised and wards were thoroughly cleaned.

But underfunding, cuts, lack of training and resources and, in some cases, plain bad practice meant these bugs were spiralling out of control and doctors were running out of antibiotics to stop them.

That was three years ago and since then I have highlighted the issue in the House

of Lords and on TV and radio. I have also helped to develop a range of antibacterial products, such as a hand wash and gel, which will help stem the spread of infections both in hospitals and around the home.

I still cannot walk without the aid of a stick, but my life has changed for the better since the accident, as well as for the worse.

I used to think that acting was my entire life and soul. Now I realise how much spin is involved in being a celebrity and that I was constantly pretending to be someone I'm not.

I've also given up drinking.

Looking back at photos of Joe and Max, it's depressing to see how many of them were taken by my mother or mother-in-law.

I was just too busy working or having fun to stop long enough to get out a camera. Now, I want to savour every day.

I'm giving myself a chance of seeing things as they really are and the longer I don't drink, the more I realise how strange it is to numb your feelings with alcohol.

Most importantly, I've learnt that it's OK to ask for help. I was always so independent before my accident that I didn't really let people into my life.

That's changed. Lee, in particular, has been incredibly caring.

Of course I have regrets, but life's too short to worry about them.

All I can do is trust that I've hit the lowest point and that now the only way is up. Hopefully there will be

a lot more good times, only a few bad ones and, of course, just enough behaving badly to keep things interesting.

Men Behaving Badly made me a star – but it also made me lonely

My audition in 1991 for Men Behaving Badly, the show that made my career, was a disaster. I was auditioning for the role of Deborah, who lived in the flat above Gary (Martin Clunes) and Tony (Neil Morrissey).

The trouble was that I arrived at the audition looking like an ordinary mum in a smart suit rather than the blonde totty Deborah was supposed to be. I was sure I had missed out.

A few days later, producer Beryl Vertue rang me and offered me the role. I was surprised but

also delighted – Leslie Ash was back in business.

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Men Behaving Badly went on to become one of the UK's most successful sitcoms, winning a host of awards, and by the time series four ended in July 1995 everyone seemed to know us.

Once, I was driving Martin, Neil and our co-star Caroline Quentin to a photoshoot in my convertible.

As we pulled up at traffic lights, I realised people were staring at us. They must have thought we really did live together.

I was determined to enjoy the fame, attending premieres, parties and awards ceremonies. And for the first time – and at the ripe old age of 36 – I was seen as a sex symbol, making it into FHM magazine's 100 Sexiest Women at No51, beating the likes of Michelle Pfeiffer.

But by the time the final series finished in 1998, I knew it was time for me to go. I felt very much on the outside. Playing the straight girl, I felt I wasn't taken seriously by the others.

At the wrap party, Beryl gave me a hug and said: 'It won't be the last time we work together.'

'I really hope not,' I replied. She had been so good to me, giving me the part of Debs and always believing in the show.

As Beryl walked away, I looked at my mother, who had always been the show's biggest fan. 'Come on, let's go,'

I said.

Extracted from My Life Behaving Badly, by Leslie Ash, published by Orion on September 6, priced £18.99. To order your copy at the special price of £17.10 with free p&p call